


Life's a Scream

by steveelotaku



Category: Life Is Strange (Video Game), Scream (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - No Storm in Arcadia Bay (Life is Strange), Blood and Gore, Bullying, Canon-Typical Violence, Drugs, Dysfunctional Family, F/F, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Scream AU, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-26
Updated: 2020-03-31
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:01:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 15,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23322097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/steveelotaku/pseuds/steveelotaku
Summary: It's been 25 years since the Woodsboro Murders. The Stab films are a global phenomenon. Blackwell Academy is looking forward to a 25th Anniversary Stab-A-Thon.Unfortunately, Rachel Amber has been murdered by someone dressed like Ghostface. Chloe Price is determined to unmask the killer.But to complicate things, Max Caulfield is back in town--and she's about to find there's worse things in school than social anxiety.
Relationships: Maxine "Max" Caulfield/Chloe Price, Rachel Amber/Chloe Price
Comments: 4
Kudos: 15





	1. Someone Has Taken Their Love of Scary Movies One Step Too Far...

**Author's Note:**

> A couple things:  
> This work takes into account both Before the Storm and the original game. It may take some elements of the comics.  
> A few changes:  
> 1\. There are no supernatural powers, and no storm (no supernatural storm, at any rate.)  
> 2\. Max is a little bit more assertive here than she is in canon (she's a fan of Sidney Prescott's and would dearly love to be more like her.)  
> 3\. The comment section for this is not the place for shipping wars. Comments related to Amberprice vs Pricefield will be deleted.  
> 4\. Rachel Amber is presented probably a bit differently than canon shows her--this is intentional. Her role in this story is roughly what Maureen Prescott was for Scream.

Rachel Amber sat packing a suitcase in her room, thoughts flying through her mind like crows from a burning forest. She’d done too much in this town, done far too much, fallen for so many people and knew she’d make innocent people cry if she stayed longer.

She thought about Chloe, even as she stuffed another few shirts in the suitcase. How could she tell her she was leaving? She turned to a note she’d only begun to write, and yet she was leaving tonight. Frank would be here in an hour, ready to take her out of Arcadia Bay for good.

She wondered how Jefferson would take it.

_God, you’re such a ho,_ her mind told her. _Using all these people and you’re just gonna run away with the one who can get you highest?_

 _I’m doing this because I’d destroy Chloe,_ she told herself. _I saw my mom. I know one day I might turn out just like her. The drugs like me too much, even if I want to stay off. Maybe I can get clean when I’m somewhere stable, bring Chloe out…_

She sighed and flicked on the TV, desperate for some background noise.

“Tonight’s movie marathon continues with _Stab 2_ ,” the announcer said. “The following program is not intended for all audiences and contains scenes of graphic violence. Viewer discretion is advised.”

The movie played out on screen, a parade of cheesy slashing and stalking and that classic Ghostface mask everywhere.

_Chloe would love this…she’s probably watching it right now. God, why am I running away?_

Just then, her phone rang, jostling her from her thoughts. Lowering the volume, she took out her phone.

“Hello?”

“Hello,” said a voice. “Who is this?”

“Who are you trying to reach?” she said, idly. “Chloe, I swear if this is a joke…”

“Wrong answer. It’s not Chloe. Speaking of Chloe, I hear you’re leaving town. Shame. Aren’t you even going to say goodbye?”

“I’m hanging up now. This is none of your business.”

“If you ever want to see Chloe again you won’t hang up. You’re going to answer my questions. Now…what’s your favourite scary movie?”

Rachel’s heart froze. The voice had sounded oddly familiar, but way too distorted to be clear. More and more it was sounding like the voice in the goddamn movie.

She started walking towards the land line of the house.

“I wouldn’t,” said the voice. “I can see every move you’re making. You call the cops and you’ll be dead before they can arrive.”

She reached into her pocket and grabbed a knife.

“Alright, let’s play,” Rachel growled. “My dad’s the DA, he’ll have you—”

“Daddy can’t help you. No one can.”

“My favourite scary movie is _Stab._ ”

“Alright. Who played Sidney in the movie?”

“Tori Spelling.”

“Good one. Who directed?”

“Robert Rodriguez.”

“Bingo, killer. You’re getting ‘em. Now. Who was the first to die in that movie?”

“Casey Becker.”

“BZZ! WRONG!”

Rachel panicked.

“She’s the first kill! Come on!”

“First person we _see_ die. But the first kill, and the first dead body is her boyfriend. Guess you gotta die, Rachel. It’s been fun.”

“Come get me, asshole,” she growled, readying her knife and throwing her phone aside.

Her closet opened up behind her, and Ghostface leapt out, his knife plunging straight into her neck, cutting a scream short. Blood splattered the walls and carpet, pooling out underneath her. With grim satisfaction, Ghostface looked down over the body, stopping only to jerk the knife out of the slowly-cooling corpse and wipe it clean with a black glove.

At that moment, Rachel’s phone began to ring.

CHLOE PRICE, it read.

It stopped ringing when Ghostface slammed it against the wall.

\--

Max Caulfield’s second day at Blackwell Academy could have gone smoother than it did, but mercifully it was short.

“Alfred Hitchcock famously called film ‘little pieces of time’, but he could also be talking about photography, as he likely was.” Mr. Jefferson began, but there was a loud sound from the PA system.

“Attention, students,” a voice began. “This is Principal Wells speaking. A student of Blackwell Academy has been found dead. All classes are cancelled until further notice while we conduct an investigation.”

There was a celebratory cheer.

“You are not to leave your dorms after 10 PM,” he continued.

There was a resounding boo.

“Further to this, the ‘25th Anniversary Stab-A-Thon’ has been cancelled due to obvious reasons of bad taste.”

Even further boos ensued.

“Did you get it cancelled, Kate?” Victoria said, snidely. “A girl with your reputation, after all…oh wait, you like that kind of stuff now, don’t you? Making out with strangers, getting topless, a bit of knifeplay isn’t such a stretch, I think?”

Max looked around, and deeply wished she was anywhere else but here.

“Shut up, Victoria,” Max said, softly. “Someone’s dead, and that’s the best thing you can come up with? It could have been you. It could have been anyone of us. Show a little heart.”

“Well, well. Trying to impress a girl, Max? I don’t think Kate over there is a dyke.”

Max’s ears burned.

“You know what, Victoria?” Kate said. “If you get hurt, don’t come to me for help.”

Max left, not wanting the scene to get any uglier.

“Max, wait,” Mr. Jefferson. “Don’t forget to turn in your—”

SLAM.

“Photo…” he said, shaking his head and sighing.

Max ran to the washroom, desperately wishing she’d brought headphones, desperately wanting to drown out the whispers and stares and thoughtless joking that echoed through the hallways. What was the point of the Everyday Heroes contest Mr. Jefferson kept asking her to enter? Nobody here remotely fit that ideal.

She sat in the back of the washroom, sighing. Her camera sat heavily in her hands. A poster for the Stab-A-Thon looked back at her, the screaming face of the Ghostface mask staring into her soul. Just then, a butterfly lighted onto the mouth of the mask.

She snapped a quick picture—a burst of compassionate blue against stark black and white.

Just then the door swung open.

“Y-you don’t know what you’re doing! Y-you don’t know who you’re f-fucking with!”

“Try me, rich boy,” spat a female voice. “You wanna tell me why Rachel didn’t pick up last night? I’m betting you killed her.”

“I f-fucking didn’t!” said the other voice, now clearly recognizable as Nathan Prescott. Nathan was an unpleasant classmate of Max’s whom she strongly suspected needed therapy but was only allowed a credit card, something that did not help his entitled, unstable attitude in the slightest.

“She said no to you last year,” the female voice continued. “So now, with the Stab-A-Thon, you thought you’d shoot your own little _Stab_ sequel, didn’t you? Don’t lie to me, Nathan!”

“Nobody…fucking nobody…tells me what to do!”

“Holy shit!”

A sound of a knife being drawn alerted Max’s ears. Fighting against her urge to run and hide, she dashed out—

The knife stabbed forward—

And as she slipped, she took a picture, blinding Nathan, and letting the girl he was threatening disarm him.

Nathan ran out in a panic.

“Well, thanks for saving my life, random citiz—holy fuck. Max!”

The girl, who had blue hair, a beanie, and a white tank top with Ghostface’s image on it, looked straight into Max’s eyes. That intense stare belonged to only one person Max knew.

“Chloe?”

Chloe ran and tackled Max.

“You’re coming with me,” she whispered, after nearly crushing Max’s ribs.

Practically dragging Max into the parking lot, she then motioned to the door of her beat-up truck.

“Get in. Now.”

Max hopped in, not even questioning for a second what was happening.

They drove in silence for a time before Chloe just pulled off to the side of the road.

“Max. What the fuck. What the fuck. Why now? Of all times? Why?”

Max sighed softly.

“There’s no good answer. I got accepted here. Came back. Knew that sooner or later…”

“…you’d have to face what you did? The fact you left the day my dad died? In the middle of the _funeral?!_ ”

Chloe fumbled with a pack of cigarettes. Unhesitatingly, Max slid one out for her and flicked a lighter as she held it up to her lips.

“…and now you gotta be so goddamn smooth and perfect and ready to help me that I want to just fucking cry like a baby. Goddamn it, Max. Fuck.”

Max looked up into Chloe’s eyes and felt her own eyes burn slightly with tears.

“I…I fucked up,” she said, softly. “I had all those times to text you, and I never put any effort in, because I thought you’d just…be better off without me. I mean, fuck, I left mid-service! How do you apologize for that?”

“You don’t,” Chloe said, laughing bitterly. “Some things you can’t apologize for. But fuck, Max! I would have _taken you back. Every day._ I swear Rachel was a little jealous of you…but she can’t be anymore. Because she’s dead. Murdered. And I swear to fuck that little rat bastard Nathan had something to do with it.”

She took a drag on her cigarette and nearly choked from the hyperventilation.

“But you know what? I went by her apartment, snuck in when the cops were on a fucking donut break. And I found this half-finished letter…”

She took it out of her glove box, still in a plastic bag.

“Dear Chloe,” she read. “By the time you get this I’ll be leaving town. I’m sorry. You called me your angel. But you need to understand that I can’t be that for you. I’m leaving town before the high you’re riding on dies off and you come down and you realize that Rachel Amber—”

She sighed.

“That’s all she wrote. She was going to leave me. Like you did. And now—now I have you back—and I can’t tell if I want to kill you or kiss you or whatever the…”

“Chloe…I’m in.”

“What?”

Max put a hand gently over Chloe’s, feeling the rough patches of skin from so many truck repairs, fights, and bad nights. She held her tight, as if she alone could pull Chloe together.

“I’m gonna find whoever killed Rachel. We’re gonna find whoever did it. And we’re gonna put an end to all this. And I swear to god I’m never leaving again.”

Chloe’s eyes went wide, sparkled with tears, and she stubbed out the cigarette, pulling Max into a tight hug.

“Goddamnit, Mad Max…I missed you.”


	2. Hello, Chloe

The truck made its way back to the Price residence, and as Chloe pulled in, she grinned.

“Oh fuck yeah! My step-fascist isn’t home!”

Max raised an eyebrow.

“Step…fascist?”

Chloe sighed.

“Look, Mom married a real prick a few years after dad died, okay? I guess I shouldn’t be so upset with him, he’s been through a few tours of duty, but he’s just such an authoritarian asshole. Sometimes, I swear I see a tiny hint of humanity in him and then he drowns it out in a fucking sea of NATO military alphabet.”

“Maybe it’s time for the Arcadia Bay Pirates to get back together,” Max said, smiling.

Chloe’s eyes went wide like a kid on Christmas morning. She hugged Max tight again, this time a little less bone-crushingly.

“I don’t know if there’s a god up there, but if so he just answered one of my prayers.”

As they walked into the house, Max’s heart leapt. Nothing had really changed since she’d left—the sun still shone through the window in the living room at the end of the house, making everything feel gold and warm.

A note was posted by the door.

CHLOE—I’M AT WORK STILL. DON’T KNOW WHEN I’LL BE BACK. TRY NOT TO MAKE TOO MUCH OF A MESS WHILE I’M GONE. ALSO, I’M SORRY ABOUT WHAT HAPPENED. I KNOW YOU AND RACHEL WERE CLOSE. –DAD.

“He’s not my father,” she said, bitterly. “I wish he would stop trying to be.”

“Nobody could replace your dad,” Max said, softly.

“Don’t I know,” Chloe said, sighing. “Come on, Max. Let’s get upstairs and plan shit out.”

Chloe’s bedroom was something of a revelation for Max. Sure, she’d been in it before, but that had been years ago. Now, it was plastered in pictures of rockers, punk rock imagery, ticket stubs, and messages written in sharpie.

EVERYONE LIES, NO EXCEPTIONS

_Cheerful,_ Max thought, reading the graffiti.

Chloe went into a drawer and pulled out a bag of weed.

“I’m gonna need to just smoke a bit. Crack the window and throw on some tunes if you want.”

Max went over to Chloe’s CDs, which looked about as organized as the CD shelves at a thrift store. She searched through them, looking over the labels. Most were burned iTunes playlists.

_MAX’S GUIDE TO CHLOE’S CDs (AT LEAST THOSE I COULD READ.)_

  1. Rachel Amber (I could never play this. Not just because it’d break Chloe’s heart, but because…)
  2. First Time R+C (Doubly no. I…don’t want to picture that. Tempting as it might be.)
  3. Fuck Stepdad (Too angry for today.)
  4. Riot Grrl
  5. Songs to Kill Yourself To (Chloe, are you okay?)
  6. Max and Chloe (Please tell me this isn’t something sad. Please.)



Max ended up picking the sixth CD she found, and as the music played, she noticed Chloe trying to relax. The joint, though, shook in her hand, and she sighed.

“It’s fucking funny,” she said. “I almost died today. Nathan could have plunged that knife straight into my heart and he’d have gotten away with it. Blackwell never cared about me.”

“You went there?” Max asked.

“Surprised?”

“No, I remember you were granted that scholarship…”

“Yeah, and honestly? I was a charity case. Everyone looked down on me the moment I got there. I met some cool kids. Steph. Rachel. But they’re all gone now. Everyone who liked me left, died, or what the fuck ever. And now you’re back.”

_Oh, where oh where could my baby be?_

_The Lord took her away from me_

_She’s gone to heaven_

_So I’ve got to be good_

Max recognized the song, and noted with grim irony it wasn’t probably the best time to be playing a song about someone’s love dying in a car crash.

“I didn’t remember you liking Pearl Jam. Thought we made this disc.”

Chloe sighed.

“I made this disc after you left. Several years later, actually. I made it look just like the one we made together. I don’t know where that one is. All I’ve got is this…new version of us.”

Max sat on the bed beside her.

“Maybe you’ll find things aren’t really that different. Not with us, at least.”

Chloe sighed.

“How can I believe that? I’m now a good 90% sure Rachel was fucking half the town behind my back. Did she ever love me? Like, at all? Or was I just a distraction until she found someone better?”

Max’s heart twisted inside of her. It wasn’t easy seeing this side of Chloe, because in her mind, it was almost as if this part of her had been born the moment she left. The old Chloe never thought like this.

“I’m sure she loved you…I mean…how could she not?” Max asked, blushing faintly.

“Dude. You just turned hella pink,” Chloe said, laughing.

“Did I?”

“You’re turning crimson now! Damn, was it something I said? Or _you_ said?”

Max said nothing and turned away.

“Eh, fuck this song,” Chloe said, taking the remote for the player off the table and switching it off. “Let’s watch a movie.”

“What should we watch?” Max asked.

“I want to watch _Stab_. Because I want to figure out exactly what was going on. Also, Rachel’s time of death? In the middle of _Stab 2_ last night.”

“Wowser,” Max said, biting her lip. “That…that’s eerie timing.”

Chloe pulled open a box of DVDs, looking through them and selecting _Stab._

“Wait up, that looks familiar.”

Max pointed at the green Ghostface cover art and gestured at the knife.

“That knife…”

Chloe picked up the knife out of her bag she’d taken from Nathan. She held it up to the case and gasped.

“That’s a Buck 120 knife—step-fucker David told me about them. Same as Ghostface uses.”

“Didn’t those knives go out of production?” Max said. “Warren was saying something about the knife only being popular again because of some movie. Apparently it’s too big for proper gutting.”

“Well, I think this points all the evidence to Nathan being one of those masked fuckers.”

Max held up a hand.

“Hold up. Didn’t those _Stab_ movies usually have two killers?”

Chloe sighed.

“Let’s watch more and see what notes we can take…”

Just then, Chloe’s phone buzzed.

A text from an unlisted number popped up.

STAY OUT OF MY WAY, NANCY DREW, OR YOU’RE NEXT.

Chloe gritted her teeth.

“Fucking Nathan just texted me.”

“Do we know it’s Nathan for sure?”

“Who else writes like they’ve got a dick two sizes too small?” Chloe said, scoffing.

She turned off her phone.

Nothing was going to get in the way of movie night.

Still, as the movie went on, Chloe noticed a few things.

  1. Tori Spelling as Sidney Prescott? Really?
  2. Billy Loomis is such an obvious killer it’s kind of sad it’s the twist.
  3. Stu Macher is equally as obvious.
  4. Max feels really good pressed up against—



She blushed, noticing Max was cuddling into her.

“Scared, Max?” Chloe asked, gently.

“Y-yeah, a little…I watch horror movies, but like…this almost feels too real,” she said. “Y’know, I used to idolize Sidney Prescott. I still kinda do…I have both her book and Gale Weathers’. I prefer Sidney’s, though. Wish I had her autograph.”

Chloe smiled.

“Hey, Super Max. Once we solve this case, we’re gonna find a signing and go to it.”

“Really?” she asked, happily.

“Hell yeah.”

The movie ended, and Chloe still wasn’t too tired.

“You want to watch _Stab 2_?” she asked.

“I’d be down.”

“Shit,” Chloe said, checking her box. “I just remembered I left the DVD with Rachel…it’s probably in evidence by now.”

“We could wait for the Stab-A-Thon…wait. Fuck. That got cancelled.”

Just then, Max’s phone buzzed with a Facebook alert.

WARREN GRAHAM PRESENTS:

THE RENEGADE STAB-A-THON

@Warren’s House

ALL THE STAB MOVIES IN GLORIOUS 4K.

FRIDAY SEPTEMBER 13th.

PM 4 DETAILS

“Oh hell yeah,” Chloe said. “We’re going.”


	3. The Chase is Better Than the Catch

Max caught Warren after class.

“So I hear you’re the new host of Stab-A-Thon.”

“Guilty as charged, Max,” Warren said, smirking. “I mean, I’m a bit torn. On one hand, I’m shamelessly being used for my 4K TV and the prospect of drunk, costume-wearing debauchery. On the other hand, the Vortex Club is now actually looking at me with something that almost resembles respect. Ah, the joys of selling out!”

“Look, Warren, can you come with me for a sec?”

“Max, your wish is my command,” Warren said, bowing dramatically.

Taking him back to the parking lot, they found Chloe waiting by her truck.

“Ok, Warren. You can’t tell anyone about this. Anyone at all.”

“Or, no offense, shortstack, but I’ll rip your nuts off,” Chloe said, calmly.

“Duly noted!” Warren said, saluting.

“Rachel was murdered,” Max said calmly. “Rachel Amber. And Chloe and I have some dirt on who might have been responsible.”

“Is it Nathan Prescott?” Warren asked. “’Cause man, the guy has some serious Dahmer vibes.”

“He’s one possibility. Because the thing is, what nobody’s saying…”

“It was a recreation of _Stab_ ,” Warren interrupted. “Come on. Why else would they cancel Stab-A-Thon? Also, I hacked Principal Wells’ computer. I had to get the dirt on this.”

“We need legit proof, though,” Chloe said. “Nothing ever fucking sticks to the Prescott family.”

“If only we had the good Prescott family here. Sidney,” Max said, sighing.

“We don’t have a Gale, a Dewey, or a Sidney. Hell, we don’t even have a Randy,” Warren pointed out.

“We totally have a Randy,” Max said, pointing at him.

“I think we might have a Sidney,” Chloe said, pointing at Max. “I’m no Gale, though. I’m not enough of a grandstanding bitch.”

“Well, if it isn’t the nerd convention,” came a haughty voice from nearby.

“Speaking of,” Max muttered.

“Yeah, this is the nerd convention,” Warren affirmed. “The second-rate Rachel Amber wannabe convention has been indefinitely postponed.”

Victoria turned crimson.

“You—”

“You’ve got the fire, but no spark,” Warren said. “Which, is frankly sad, ‘cause you’re not a bad photographer. Speaking of bad photography, Isn’t Nathan looking for you?”

Victoria’s features softened.

“I…I’m a bit worried about him. He seemed very upset about something yesterday. We used to talk all the time, now he never seems to want to. Ever since that student died he’s been in a panic.”

“It was Rachel Amber,” Chloe said.

“What?!” Victoria exclaimed. “Seriously?!”

“They were close,” Chloe continued. “Almost too close.”

“Chloe, if you’re insinuating Nathan murdered her…”

“Hey, if the designer heels fit, princess…”

Max stepped between them.

“That’s enough. Both of you. Nobody knows anything right now. Let’s just keep our heads in the game, alright? We don’t want to be next!”

“Next?” Victoria scoffed. “Please. Rachel probably just didn’t pay for her drugs and someone offed her.”

Just then, David Madsen burst onto the scene.

“What are you kids doing here?” he exclaimed. “There’s been another murder, everyone is to go to their dorms immediately!”

“Hey, stepdad,” Chloe said, in a tone that practically exclaimed “fuck off.”

“Chloe, you were expelled from here. What are you doing back on campus?”

“She’s with me,” Max said. “Chloe and I are childhood friends.”

“You’re Max Caulfield. Right, she mentioned you. Well, you seem decent enough. Just make sure Chloe doesn’t get in any trouble, alright?”

“Mr. Madsen, I wouldn’t dream of it,” Max said, innocently.

“Right, well get a move on. On the double!”

They cleared out as Mr. Madsen went about his rounds.

“Holy shit, another murder? Who?” Victoria wondered.

Just then, her phone buzzed. A text popped up onscreen.

Taylor’s mutilated face filled the window.

HEY KILLER. YOUR T’S LOOKING A LOT LESS SWEET.

Victoria gasped and nearly dropped her phone.

Max was at her side.

“Victoria, holy shit, are you okay?”

Victoria Chase was rarely shaken by anything, but the phone then buzzed again, showing another picture—this one of Ghostface taking a selfie with the mutilated body.

SHE’S A BFF NOW. BUTCHERED FUCKING FRIEND.

She ran over to a garbage can, retching, and didn’t return for a solid minute.

Returning surprisingly clean for someone so dramatically affected—though not without sweat drops, messed-up hair, and pallor—Victoria shivered.

“I want to find who did this,” she said. “And I want them to _pay_.”

“Well then,” Max said. “Welcome to the club.”

“You gain entry on one condition,” Warren said.

“Anything,” Victoria said.

“You delete the video you took of Kate Marsh,” he said, firmly. “You want our help? Help us out. She didn’t deserve that at all.”

“Fine,” she said, going online and deleting the viral video. “It was probably going to get de-listed anyway.”

“And delete the backup, smartass,” Warren pressed.

Victoria muttered, but deleted the video, showing the group the proof.

“Y’know, we’d hate you a little less if you weren’t so…you,” Chloe pointed out. “I mean, we get it. You’re the queen of this school. Trust me, no one else wants the position.”

That threw Victoria a bit.

“I’m thinking this Ghostface guy has a point he wants to make,” she said, somewhat ignoring the question. “That’s two beautiful girls down. Two people I was connected to. And Nathan’s been acting _really_ weird.”

“Do you think Nathan did it?” Max asked.

“I don’t want to think that,” Victoria said.

“I took a knife off of him yesterday,” Chloe said. “A Buck 120 knife. AKA, Ghostface’s signature weapon.”

Max showed Victoria the picture she’d taken.

“That…doesn’t look good,” she admitted. “But…Nathan isn’t homicidal. He’s not stable, but…if you ask me, killing is more something his deadbeat dad would do.”

“Worth looking into, then,” Chloe noted. “So what do we call this club?”

“The Blackwell Ninjas?” Max offered.

“That is so tacky,” Victoria muttered. “But, I haven’t got any ideas, so…”

“Go ninja, go ninja, go!” Warren said, fist-pumping.

As they walked back to the dorms, Chloe remembered something.

“Shit, they’re probably gonna want Warren to go back to his dorm.”

“Ladies, I can Skype you if I need to—”

“Are you kidding me?” Max said. “That’s like asking for a found footage death.”

“Killed in a 2010s horror movie style? Eww,” Warren said. “We gotta do some damage control.”

Chloe pulled a handful of cherry bombs out of her pocket.

“Damage control?” Max asked.

“I’ve got our distraction. You be the control, Max. I’ll do the damage.”

“Do you all speak in tawdry one-liners, you retro-zone nerds?” Victoria asked.

“English, motherfucker, do you speak it?” Warren said, rolling his eyes. “Live a little.”

“Living is what I’m worried about,” Victoria said.

They made their way to the dormitory, where Samuel the caretaker was acting as an impromptu security guard. Chloe breathed a sigh of relief. Compared to dealing with David, Samuel would be a cakewalk.

“I’m not supposed to let anyone through,” he said. “Unless, of course, you were to distract me.”

Chloe lit a few cherry bombs and tossed them into a nearby garbage can.

“Ingenious, Ms. Price,” he remarked, going to investigate the bombs.

“He’s a weird guy…” Victoria remarked.

“And yet, oddly in sync with what needs to be done,” Warren said. “Strange, uncanny, amazing, astonishing, incredible…”

“I’m pretty sure you missed a few Marvel Comics adjectives there, dork,” Chloe said.

“Who’s more of a dork?” Warren asked, as they walked into the dorm. “The dork, or the dork who follows him?”

“The one who recognizes the _Star Wars_ reference,” Max said, laughing. “Biggest dork here.”

“Whose room are we planning this out of?” Chloe asked.

“Mine,” Max said, calmly. “It’s not too crowded and I don’t have a roommate.”

Pushing open the door to her room, Max let out a relieved sigh. Everything was as it should be. A wall of selfies and important photos, her guitar sitting in the corner, Lisa the plant near her desk…

Were it not for the fact a murderer was on the loose, it’d be downright homey.

“Alright, what’s the first order of business?” Max asked.

“Okay, who watches horror movies here?” Warren said, scanning the room.

Chloe and Max’s hands went up.

“Not you, Victoria?”

“As if!”

“Okay,” Warren said. “This Ghostface guy acts like he’s in a horror movie. That means there’s certain rules he likes to play with. Rule one, no sex. I know, I know. Nobody likes that one. But it’s more for a practical reason. Ever hear the phrase ‘caught with your pants down?’”

“I’m sure you were at some point, Warren,” Victoria said, sharply. “Though whether it was your mom catching you rubbing one out to She-Hulk or the football team making an example of you, I can’t say.”

Chloe gave a warning glare and Victoria shrank.

“The fact you know who She-Hulk even is tells me you’re hiding shit,” Chloe said, firmly. “So unless we wanna find out you have a secret anime collection…”

“How did you—I mean…”

Victoria was crimson.

“Shoot me…” she muttered.

“Nope, no can do,” Chloe said. “We actually, as much as I hate to say this, need you, because you have an in on a lot of the student body.”

“Rule 2,” Warren said, his demeanour having changed precisely not at all. “Don’t drink or do drugs. All puritanical bullshit aside, Ghostface probably will tamper with them. We already know someone drugged Kate. Maybe it was our current Ghostface.”

“Fucking hell,” Chloe muttered.

“Rule 3. Never, under any circumstances, say ‘I’ll be right back.’ You won’t. And by extension, never leave the group if you can help it. This isn’t _Scooby-Doo_. There’s strength in numbers.”

Max nodded.

“All good points. Anything else?”

Warren opened up a picture on his phone.

“Father Death. The most popular Halloween costume ever sold. Manufactured by Fun World, a subsidiary of Easter Unlimited. Also known as ‘Ghostface’ and has been sold under that name. I’m not really one to justify the ethics of profiting off a crisis, that’s more Nathan’s dad’s department, but…here’s the problem. This is the _most popular Halloween costume ever sold_. Meaning, odds are? Everyone we know has one. And at the Stab-A-Thon, you can bet everyone will have one.”

“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” Chloe said. “What else can we use?”

“Are there any weaknesses with this guy’s gimmick?” Victoria asked. “I mean, that mask looks hard to see out of.”

“That’s his exact weakness,” Warren explained. “The mask doesn’t have a lot of visibility and condensation can build up in some of the plastic-mouthed models. Some have more mesh than others and that lets in more cool air. Also, the mask is sometimes separate from the hood, other times to the two are conjoined. The latter’s more common. There are a bunch of other, less successful variants—devils, scarecrows, mummies, masks with fake blood in them, glowing masks—but the photos show the classic white mask.”

“What about the long robe?” Max asked.

“Major tripping hazard,” Warren said, getting Max’s hint. “If you read _Out of Darkness_ by Sidney Prescott, you’d know one of her tips for dealing with a Ghostface attack is to trip him or knock over furniture.”

“I did,” Max replied.

“Also,” he said. “Most people wear no protection under it. Both for mobility’s sake and also for the fact most people don’t own a knife-proof or bulletproof vest.”

“So if we shoot the fucker, he should go down faster than Victoria at homecoming,” Chloe said.

Max nudged Chloe.

“Chloe, I know you don’t like working with Victoria, but cool it. Seriously. If we can’t work out our own differences, we’ll be as dead as Rachel and Taylor.”

“Speaking of dead, who’s he gonna go for next?” Victoria asked.

“Uh, I have a horrible feeling I know who,” Warren said.

A picture of Kate Marsh flashed onto all the girls’ phones.

I ALWAYS WANTED TO SEE AN ANGEL FALL.

Attached was a picture of Kate Marsh’s diary.

…and her suicide note.

SHE’LL BE ON THE ROOF. YOU HAVE FIVE MINUTES.

“Fuck, go time!” Chloe said, kicking the door open.


	4. Don't Look Now

The group started making a run for it, scrambling to the ladder to get the roof. None of them trusted Ghostface to be telling the truth, so they hurried all the faster. Max took a quick look at Victoria—while she was still very much keeping up her façade of regal contempt, it was slipping more and more by the minute.

“Fuck, I didn’t think she’d do this…”

“What exactly would _you_ have done in her position, Victoria?” Chloe asked, pointedly.

“Less talk, more running,” Max said. “We haven’t got the time to fight.”

Kate Marsh was not having a good day. This was something of an understatement—it had hardly been a good _year_ , and it was already barely started. The video had gone around seemingly everywhere, and her own family was turning their backs on her. It never seemed to matter that she couldn’t remember any of it, or what had happened to her. Now, every morning meant waking up to catcalls and horrible messages on the mirror or her whiteboard. All of it was just piling up…

The ledge grew ever closer. A crowd had gathered and was snapping pictures. Some were even screaming “jump” at her. Why were people so awful?

She started to step towards the very edge, when—

“Stop!” cried Max.

Kate stepped back.

“Max?” Kate asked, tears streaming down her face. “What are you doing here?”

“Stopping you from making the worst decision ever,” Chloe said.

“Kate…fuck…” Victoria said. “I…I…”

“How could you do this to me?” Kate asked Victoria. “I never wanted any trouble from you!”

“I was being petty. I was being jealous. I was wrong,” Victoria said, pained by every single word. “But…I deleted every copy of the video I posted or had. And I swear to God I’m going to be better. Too many people are dead…”

“W-What do you mean?” Kate asked.

“Someone’s trying to kill you, Kate,” Max said. “He’s already gotten two of our friends…”

The crowd had stopped shouting “jump.” Instead, there were screams.

“Look out behind you!” called Juliet from below.

Kate whipped around to find Ghostface charging at her. She screamed.

“Well, you know what they say,” Ghostface said, bitterly. “If you can’t get someone to kill themselves right…do it for them.”

Victoria charged Ghostface as his knife swung down towards Kate. It plunged straight into her guts. She screamed, and Kate stumbled back, slipping off the ledge. Max dived, narrowly catching her ankle.

“Chloe! Help me!”

Chloe grabbed Max and barely succeeded in hoisting Kate back up. Unfortunately, she’d gone unconscious from the stress.

Just then, Ghostface reeled back.

Warren had picked up some spare bricks and was busy hurling them at the killer.

“Ever watch _Home Alone 2_ , asshole? Now there’s some real sick shit!”

The masked killer, realizing he was out-numbered, began to run.

“Shit, what do we do?” Chloe asked.

“Leave him,” Max said. “We have one girl unconscious and one about to die. Get help.”

Victoria was soon carted away to the hospital, but as the doctor noted grimly, it was unlikely she was going to recover. Kate was still unconscious, and in all likelihood would be for the next few hours. She was loaded into the ambulance as well, the paramedics trying to stabilize her.

Max sighed. They’d won, but at what cost?

“I feel like I know nothing,” Max said, as they ate lunch. “Victoria taking a knife for Kate? Someone actually wanting to _kill_ Kate? Like, the girl can barely bring herself to say anything meaner than ‘don’t come to me for help if you get hurt.’”

David Madsen came around to their lunch table.

“Max, what you did was stupid and reckless,” he said. “That said, it was also brave and honestly, I’m glad you intervened. Chloe, you too. Maybe you two hanging out wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.”

He took a notebook out and scribbled a few things, crossing out one item in particular, then walking away, clutching his head, which now sported a rather ugly bruise.

“Hey, dad,” Chloe said, choking on the word. “Uh, how’d you get that bruise?”

“Oh, that?” he said. “That ghost creep hit me while he was getting away. I was trying to catch him, but I only managed to get this.”

He held up a damaged voice changer.

“If I had to guess, this is how he’s been disguising himself. I’ve been interrogating students, but the problem is, everyone has one of those stupid costumes…”

He walked away, muttering to himself.

“Dude,” Warren said to Chloe. “Is your stepdad acting sus, or what?”

“He’s a creep,” Chloe said, flatly. “But that bruise…isn’t that where Ghostface would have gotten hit with a brick?”

“It is,” Warren said. “I hit him in the chest and head. I probably broke his voice changer, too.”

“But wouldn’t David be _protecting the students_?” Max offered. “I mean, yeah, no question he’s a creep…”

“He scratched off something in that book. Probably a kill list,” Chloe said. “Ugh.”

“Why aren’t you dead?” Warren asked.

Chloe looked offended, before sighing.

“No, no, it’s a fair point. Maybe it’d be too obvious, but…put him on the suspect list next to Nathan for now.”

Juliet ran over to the group.

“Holy shit, you guys! Max! Chloe! Warren! Like, fuck! You’re so badass! I was trying to go get a net or something to catch Kate, but you guys nailed it up there!”

“You okay, Juliet?” Max asked.

“Yeah! I can’t believe I’m saying it, but I’m worried about Victoria,” she said. “She took one for Kate, and geez…I swear, nothing’s been the same since the murders started. I was expecting her to be filming Kate, but she was with you.”

“Ghostface got Taylor,” Chloe said. “That won her to our side pretty quick, sad to say.”

“So it _is_ a Ghostface,” Juliet said, disturbed. “Someone’s really trying to top Woodsboro, huh?”

“Seems that way,” Max replied. “We gotta be careful.”

“Are you going to the Stab-A-Thon at Warren’s?”

“Hell yeah,” Max said. “It’s almost certainly gonna draw the killer out.”

Just then, Mr. Jefferson walked by.

“Max, that was incredible! Your concern for your fellow students, that’s something really remarkable. If only you’d had your camera!”

“Nothing incredible about it, Mr. Jefferson. Somebody had to help,” Max said, quietly. “I don’t want the world turning into a slasher movie. And I hate bullies.”

“Well, in any case, if you do turn in a photo, I’m sure it’ll be incredible,” he said. “Anyway, I have some stuff to sort out now that there’s been a few more deaths. It’ll be hard letting their parents know, you know.”

“Geez,” Warren said, after he left. “Great photographer, emotional intelligence of a Reddit user. Oh, I’m sorry, some kids are dead, that’s a real fucking inconvenience. Hey, Mrs. Chase, sorry your daughter got gutted, but now I’m drowning in paperwork.”

“So what do we do now?” Chloe asked.

“We probably better send Warren back to his dorm,” Max noted. “While I hate leaving part of our group behind, the fact remains that it’s still a few days before the Stab-A-Thon and if Warren’s careful and sticks to his dorm while we’re not around, things should be okay.”

“What about us?” Chloe whispered. “If step-douche is a suspect, we’re gonna have to do all our work when he isn’t around.”

“We can use my dorm room. Plus, like you said, your dad is out fairly often, right?”

“Yeah, I guess. Oh, shit! I know the perfect place!”

“Where?”

“American Rust. The junkyard where I used to hang out with Rachel. At most the only other people there are drunk, bored senior kids. They keep to themselves.”

“Okay, that sounds good to me.”

In spite of that, a chill ran down Max’s spine.

She was going to share a place that had special meaning for Rachel and Chloe.

That shouldn’t have made her heart beat fast. It shouldn’t have made sweat run down her forehead. It shouldn’t have made her so _excited._

But it did.


	5. Truth or Dare

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With a title like that, you can probably guess where this one's going. Enjoy.

To call American Rust a graveyard where memories went to die might seem a bit maudlin, but that was precisely how Chloe felt about the place. Chloe was under no illusions about the fact death seemed to follow her and Rachel around like a particularly bored cat, who if sufficiently bored, would knock something they loved off the table.

It was something of a literal graveyard as well—Chloe also knew her father’s car was in here, smashed to bits from the truck that had hit him as he went to pick up her mother. In spite of the persistent association with death, however, it was still a place of comfort for Chloe. Some nights she went there, she swore she could almost still feel her father watching over her. Other times, the place offered a bunch of targets she could smash and vent her frustrations on. And sometimes, it offered her warmth and shelter when it felt the world was intent on giving her the cold shoulder.

Max held Chloe’s hand as they walked in together. It was still a warm, sunny day, thankfully, and butterflies settled on car wrecks as they slipped inside.

It was funny, Chloe thought, as she held Max’s hand, how little Max had changed as a person. She was more of a hipster, now, she supposed, but otherwise…the pink shirts, the desire to please others, the shy way she blushed and hid her face…very little had changed. Somehow, she could still picture Max digging in the backyard for buried treasure.

Chloe sighed.

“Here it is, Max. My little slice of heaven away from the hell I call home.”

“Wowser,” Max said, looking around completely starstruck. “This is your secret base, huh? Hella cool…”

Chloe felt her cheeks burn slightly.

“It’s really not much, but…”

“It’s so cool…”

Chloe breathed a calm sigh of relief.

“Wait up, Max. I wanna show you something.”

Max turned and waited, watching Chloe reach into her jacket. She pulled out a .38 revolver.

“Chloe, where did you—” Max began, looking profoundly ill at ease.

“Swiped it when step-douche wasn’t looking,” she said, proudly. “Look, Max…I’m just really fucking tired of boys with toys fucking with me. Rachel and I used to get in so much shit with people. Fucker named Damon threatened me with a knife before my dealer put him six feet under. Nathan tried to stab me. Rachel got butchered. How much more do I have to fucking suffer here because some fucking manchild is upset I’m not kissing his ass?”

She sighed and kicked a hole in a rusted car door.

“Like, it feels sometimes like some sicko up there’s playing games with me. Live or die, make your choice, some fucking Jigsaw bullshit. Like, can I not just choose to live without someone making me prove I’m worth it?! Because I never am. Not to this town. Not cool enough to go with Rachel to Santa Monica, not cool enough for Victoria _fucking_ Chase, not cool enough for ‘yes daddy Prescott harder’ Principal Wells, and for a while I didn’t feel even cool enough for you. Because you left. And now you’re back, and I’m so happy, but I just know something’s gonna try taking you from me again.”

Max sighed.

“Chloe, do you really think I’m going to _let_ someone take me from you? I spent years _angsting_ over not talking to you! Living in Seattle was a virtual death sentence for me because I knew I’d fucked up. So of course I’m going to fight to be here! I’m sick of bullies, too. No matter who they are. I’m going to fight with you…I’d just rather not be breaking too many laws doing so. I’m not so punk as you…though I’d kinda like to be.”

She took a step closer to Chloe.

“You don’t need to prove how tough you are to me. I know, because you’re the bravest girl I know. If anyone can find and stop this killer, it’s you. You thought Nathan was the killer and confronted him on it. I…I can barely bring myself to speak up in Jefferson’s class. I thought I was gonna vomit when I told off Victoria when she was taunting Kate the other day.”

“Oh, you’re brave,” Chloe said. “You just don’t know it.”

“How can I find out?” Max asked, her heart racing up into her throat.

“Follow me,” Chloe said, smirking and shooting a quick wink at Max.

The two girls walked for a while past wrecks and old signs for diners and stores Max remembered fondly, until they came up on an old shack at the back of the junkyard. Entering in, there was the remnants of an old campfire, and a wall where Max could read two messages:

RACHEL WAS HERE

CHLOE WAS HERE

Max felt her heart skip a beat.

“Welcome home, Max,” Chloe said. “Rachel ‘n me used to come here all the time, but the one person I wished could see this place was you…and now, you’re here.”

Chloe’s cheeks were subtly pink as she passed Max a marker.

“Go on, Max. Your name belongs here as much as anyone else’s. Hell, more so.”

Max walked over, and wrote:

MAX WAS HERE

Settling down beside Chloe, Max wondered why her heart was still pounding. She picked nervously at her shoelaces, breathing shallowly.

“I don’t feel brave,” she muttered. “I don’t feel brave at all.”

“Max…you saved Kate’s life,” Chloe replied, calmly. “You took a dive towards a ledge that could have killed you, but you did it because you knew she was worth the risk. That’s brave.”

“I did everything right today. That’s what people tell me,” Max said, quietly. “So why does it feel like someone ripped me apart?”

“Because being good doesn’t always meaning feeling good, Max. That’s why I keep making bad decisions, every now and then. I’m afraid maybe one day I’ll make the wrong call, do the right thing, and I won’t be good enough to survive it.”

Max took her hand.

“I won’t let anyone take you from me.”

Chloe’s face turned a deep pink.

“M-Max…”

Both girls sighed.

“This has gotten way too real,” Max said. “Let’s play a game or something to pass the time.”

“Truth or Dare?” Chloe offered.

“You’re on,” Max said, grinning. “Okay, Chloe, truth or dare.”

“Truth.”

Max fidgeted for a moment.

“Would Rachel have liked me?”

Chloe laughed softly.

“Max, she would have been _crazy_ about you. She was a bit jealous of you honestly—she always said how cool you sounded and how genuine you were compared to everybody here.”

Some of the butterflies in Max’s stomach vanished.

“She’d be happy to know you’re trying to find the truth,” Chloe continued. “Rachel lied, a lot. I won’t pretend she was true all the time. She wasn’t, as hard as that is for me to admit. But…she wanted the truth, all her life. She just kept ending up in places where lying was easier, and lying made her more comfortable, because everyone lied to her. Look, I loved her, but…there were things with her I could never fix. Maybe she was always going to leave, and there was nothing I could do.”

She looked at Max sadly, before shaking it off.

“Anyway, before I drama-bomb this place into the world’s tackiest glass bowl, truth or dare, Max?”

“Dare,” Max said, grinning.

Chloe looked into Max’s cheerful eyes, her wild, brown spirited gaze making her heart race. Nothing seemed to be able to break her, no matter how dark the world seemed to be getting lately. Chloe felt a shiver run down her spine as she asked her dare.

“I dare you to kiss me. Like, dead on.”

Max raised an eyebrow. Then, her smile widened.

And before Chloe knew it, she was being pushed against the wall of the shack with a passionate kiss. She nearly fell over completely before Max broke the kiss off and smiled, her face crimson but proud.

“I know I’m no Rachel, but…”

Max couldn’t finish. Chloe kissed her right back.

The two girls pulled each other tight, eyes closed, kissing again and again until both were gasping for air.

“So,” Max said, gasping. “I think I found out something about myself right there.”

“How long did it take you to figure out?” Chloe said, gasping. “You were blushing like hell when I touched you, you were actually _eager_ to play Truth or Dare, and…”

Chloe’s face fell.

“Shit, shit, shit…”

“What’s going on, Chloe? Did I—”

Chloe just pointed at the wall of the shack.

In blood, three chilling words had been written.

GHOSTFACE WAS HERE.


	6. Visiting Hours

“Fuck!” Chloe exclaimed. “Max, grab a weapon!”

Max scrambled, looking around. There wasn’t much, but in one corner she found a broken piece of piping that she grabbed to use as a bat. Slowly standing up, Chloe took the safety off her revolver.

“Come on out, you rubber-faced motherfucker!” Chloe called, aiming around. “You wanna see some hot lesbian action, then thrill as I put a bullet between your eyes while my girl bludgeons your ass into next week!”

“I’m armed!” Max called out. “What are you gonna do, crank call me? You’re not seeming so tough after we busted your ass with bricks back at school! I’m gonna take a selfie with your limp body!”

“Shit, Max! You’re sounding hardcore! Am I rubbing off on you?”

“What in the goddamn hell are you two ranting about?” came a gruff voice.

“Oh shit!” Chloe exclaimed. “Geez, _he’s_ here too?”

“Who?” Max asked. “Chloe, I’ve been out of town for a long time, I—”

“Frank Bowers. My dealer. I kinda owe him big time?”

Max sighed.

“And you’re unemployed and cash is still tight since…”

“Bingo,” Chloe said, sighing. “I’d hoped to make some money modelling with Rachel, but…”

“You’re not gonna hide this time, Chloe! I have bills to pay, and I need that cash!”

Chloe and Max stepped out to face a gruff-looking man with a goatee and dirty blond hair. He had a blue bracelet on one wrist and a dirty black jacket.

“Frank.”

“Chloe. And I’m guessing Max.”

Chloe’s eyes widened looking at the bracelet.

“Where the fuck did you get that? Rachel used to wear that…”

She raised the gun.

“So _you’re_ one of the Ghostfaces! I oughta blow your brains out right now!”

Frank rushed her and grabbed her arm, causing Chloe to drop the gun.

“You point a gun at someone, Chloe, you better be ready to pull the trigger!”

Max dove and grabbed the gun, putting it to the back of his head.

“Let. Her. Go.”

Frank dropped Chloe.

“Now, let’s talk this out,” Max said, calmly, moving the gun away from Frank’s head but still keeping it trained on him. “What exactly is your connection to Rachel Amber?”

“Rachel got drugs from him,” Chloe said. “I don’t trust him.”

“ _You_ get your drugs from me! You just don’t trust me because you’re behind on payments!” Frank protested. “If I wanted you dead, I’d have let Damon off you back at the mill three years ago!”

“Then why is Rachel dead? Were you planning to kill me after _she_ missed a payment?”

Frank’s face fell. All aggressiveness dropped from his features.

“What the fuck?” he asked, his face blank.

“Wait, you didn’t know?” Max asked.

He sighed.

“I just got back into town, I had to go pick up some product a ways out and get some special stuff for Pompidou. My dog. Rachel and I were supposed to leave—”

Chloe’s face turned pale.

“So she was cheating on me with _you_?!”

Frank’s face spoke volumes written in guilt and shame.

“I wasn’t the first person,” he said, softly. “And I didn’t know you two were a thing. Look, Chloe…Rachel was with some other guy, too, but…she got scared. Said he wasn’t who she thought he was. Then something _else_ happened, don’t know what, but she got real scared. Kept saying someone was coming to kill her. At first, I thought her DA asshole dad was up to some sketchy shit, but he’s been keeping his nose clean since the feds started investigating him. She was gonna leave town with me, so I put her up in an apartment…”

“Rachel Amber was found stabbed to death,” Max said. “The killer wore a Ghostface costume. She died watching _Stab 2_. Now, a bunch of our friends have turned up dead—all killed by someone in a Ghostface costume.”

Chloe pulled up a news report on her phone, showing it to Frank.

“Jesus H. Christ…” he said, choking. “Look, Chloe, I know I’m not a good person, but…Rachel was a good friend to us both. I would _never_ hurt a hair on her head, you have my word. And if you want proof I was out of town…”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out three days’ worth of receipts for gas, dog food, and other transactions, all in a crumpled ball.

Max lowered the gun as she read through them with Chloe.

“It’s a solid alibi, Chloe. Frank definitely wasn’t here when Rachel died.”

Chloe choked on a sob.

“Fuck!” she screamed. “Fuck! I…I should have seen this coming, what with the note she was leaving, but…but…”

“The note?” Frank asked.

“I took a note from the apartment after the cops cleared it out,” Chloe said. “She never finished it, but it looks like she was trying to tell me she was leaving me for you, because she was afraid she’d just hurt me…well mission fucking accomplished, Rachel.”

“So who’s this Max girl here?”

“I’m her childhood friend,” Max said, sheepishly. “I just got back here after a long time.”

“Childhood _best_ friend,” Chloe corrected.

“We’ve been trying to figure out what happened, who’s responsible,” Max said. “The cops, I’m sure, are conducting an investigation…”

“…but you don’t trust them,” Frank said. “Sensible. Arcadia Bay PD can barely print a parking ticket.”

“Yeah,” Chloe said. “At Blackwell Academy, one girl is dead, another’s in critical condition, and one nearly died. To top it off, we’ve been getting threatening messages on our phones…”

“…just like in those fucking movies,” Frank finished.

Chloe pointed at the shack.

“Max and I were just hanging out when we saw that the killer had written something in blood on the wall.”

“Just hanging out? Really?” Frank said. “I wasn’t looking, but fuck you two are loud.”

Max turned crimson.

“The point is,” Max said, stammering. “He wrote a message in _fucking blood_ , which means he’s probably—”

“Right behind you,” Ghostface said, leaping down from a stack of cars with a knife.

Max whipped around and opened fire. Two shots ricocheted off car wrecks, but two more hit the killer straight in the chest. She fired at the killer again, but the remaining shots missed.

“Chloe,” Frank muttered. “Remind me to never fuck with your new girlfriend.”

“Holy shit,” Max muttered, grabbing her pipe and rushing in.

The killer sprung up and brandished his knife again, as if the bullets had had no effect on him.

“The fuck?!” Chloe said.

Frank reached into his pocket and pulled out a combat knife.

“You wanna dance, Captain 90s? I’m gonna send you back to the thrift store in a body bag!”

Chloe grabbed a wrench and moved towards Ghostface. He leapt at Frank, plunging the knife into the drug dealer’s leg and ripping the knife out, but Frank was still able to slug him hard in the jaw with the reinforced hilt of his knife. Seeing Chloe and Max advancing with their weapons, Ghostface reached into his sleeve, and pulled out a grenade.

“Holy shit, get down!” Max said, diving and knocking the others to the ground. Ghostface threw the grenade at his feet, and a huge burst of smoke filled the air.

The group breathed a sigh of relief, but as the smoke cleared, one fact remained.

Ghostface was gone, and he could take more than one bullet.

“Frank, we have to get you to the hospital,” Chloe said.

“Oh, so first you wanna blow my brains out, now you wanna save me?” he groused. “Sorry, I know you thought I was the killer, it’s just…”

He screamed.

“Fuck!”

“I’ll drive,” Chloe said. “You got a car here?”

“My RV,” Frank grunted. “I can—”

“No, you can’t!”

Reluctantly, Frank let Max and Chloe carry him to the RV. A small dog began barking.

“Pompidou, calm down! They’re with me.”

That seemed to satisfy Pompidou, who noted the wound on Frank’s leg, and whined pitiably.

“I’ll be alright, Pompidou. Trust me.”

Chloe began the drive to the hospital, as Max looked around.

“You got a first aid kit, Frank?”

“Should be in the cupboard by the dog food. I try to keep it updated, but there’s definitely alcohol in there and some bandages. Painkillers too, but they might be expired.”

Frank unzipped the leg of his cargo pants.

“And people laugh at me for wearing these,” he muttered. Rolling up the cuff, he checked the wound, and sighed.

“This isn’t necessarily the nastiest wound I’ve had but it’s certainly up there…if he wasn’t using such a big knife, he might have done more damage. Can’t get a proper grip or cut with something that big. Something tells me he’s compensating like hell…the number of small-time assholes with big knives, I swear.”

Max got out a sterile pad and dumped alcohol on it.

“This is gonna sting, just saying.”

Frank grabbed his knife and bit down on it.

“I’m ready,” he grunted.

In spite of this, he audibly groaned as Max disinfected the wound. She then wrapped it in bandages and tightened a tourniquet around it.

“It’s not much, but it’ll have to do til we can get proper care,” Max said.

“How’d Chloe ever end up hanging out with someone as sensible as you?” Frank wondered.

“It was me leaving, I think, that got her acting rash.”

“Do me a favour,” Frank said, laughing through the pain, “don’t ever fucking leave town again. Chloe’s a good girl, but she needs some common fucking sense.”

Chloe groaned from the driver’s seat.

“We’re here. Assholes.”

They got Frank checked into emergency quickly, and when the doctors saw the state of his leg, they took him without much delay. While the girls waited for him to be treated (because he could largely speak for himself), they decided to go visit Kate and Victoria.

Kate was up and about, and frequently at Victoria’s bedside, quietly praying. Victoria herself was on an IV, breathing with an oxygen mask.

“She’s lucky to be alive,” the nurse said. “However, the damage to her vitals was extensive…we can’t be sure if she’ll make it. She’s fighting, though. That other girl hasn’t left her side since she came out of her unconscious state.”

Max sat down beside Kate, Chloe hanging back at a distance.

“Hey, Kate.”

“Max? What are you doing here?” Kate asked, looking up from her prayer book.

“One of Chloe’s friends got stabbed protecting us from Ghostface,” Max explained. “He’s in emergency right now. Don’t worry, he’ll make it. It was just in the leg.”

“Still, I’ll find time to pray for him,” Kate said. “Poor Victoria…I said such horrible things about her. But she couldn’t come to me for help, so I came to her…”

“Kate, uh, she was kinda a huge bitch,” Chloe said. “I don’t know if I could do that.”

“It’s not easy,” Kate admitted. “She was very mean to me, and part of me still feels like crying…but I’ve always believed we should pray for those who hurt us and take care of everyone, even those we don’t like as much.”

“What about your parents?” Max asked.

“They’ve been very worried. My family, some of them were very judgmental about the video, but ever since the rooftop incident, they’ve been listening to me more. The nurses took a blood sample and they found traces of drugs in it. I thought there was something weird-tasting about that punch I had. It didn’t taste alcoholic, just…salty and weird.”

“Rohypnol, probably,” Chloe said. “I know a guy who used to sell that stuff, but it wouldn’t shock me if the Vortex Club got their hands on--”

It hit her.

“Nathan. Victoria always said Nathan was an insomniac, took Rohypnol to sleep.”

“He probably got it from a third party,” Max said. “You know how his dad is. Hates anything that makes him or his family look ‘weak’ or ‘imperfect.’”

“I feel sorry for Nathan,” Kate said. “My family isn’t perfect, but they do love me. I never got that feeling, talking with Nathan sometimes.”

Chloe sighed.

“I feel bad sometimes, fighting with my stepdad. I just wish he could see that I’m not a soldier, and he doesn’t _have_ to be the squad leader. I just wish he could _get_ me, and not just see me as some directionless punk loser. I want a dad, not a drill sergeant.”

Kate smiled softly.

“Everything will be okay, Chloe. God has a plan. I’ll pray for whatever He doesn’t cover.”

“I’d hate to see—” Chloe began, but cut herself off. “Sorry. Sarcasm. Force of habit. Thank you for praying for us, Kate.”

“We appreciate it,” Max said. “Oh, and don’t feel pressured, but—if you remember anything about the party, or if you got any weird or creepy messages lately, text me. We’re working out the mystery of who’s behind these murders.”

Kate smiled.

“I really do hope you catch whoever it is! I’m pretty scared…”

“We all are,” Max reassured her. “But we’re gonna get through this.”

“Hey, as long as we have Super Max here, we’ll be okay,” Chloe said, laughing.

“Hey, Max?” Kate asked. “Can you feed my bunny while I’m gone?”

“I made sure Alyssa would,” Max said. “I’ll feed him too, we’ll take it in shifts.”

“You’re some kind of guardian angel, Max. I won’t forget this.”

Max got up, looked at Victoria one last time, and turned to Chloe.

“We’d better get back. Curfew tonight, after all.”

“And we’ve gotta plan,” Chloe said. “Take care, Kate.”

“You too, Chloe.”

The girls walked for a bit before collapsing into some waiting room chairs in the ward Frank had been admitted to.

“You ever feel like life’s a bit too much?” Chloe asked.

“Yeah, life is…strange,” Max said. “Hella weird, at least.”

“Are you the two girls who brought that man with the leg wound in?” the nurse asked.

“We are,” Max affirmed.

“He’s stable, but we’re keeping him for the night to make sure everything’s alright. That was a nasty wound, alright. He says a man in a Ghostface costume attacked him, is that right?”

Max nodded.

The nurse sighed, and shook her head.

“I was in Woodsboro, back when those awful murders took place years ago. Back then, I was just a student. I was in a class with Sidney Prescott, you know? I never dreamed when I moved here that I’d ever see that dreadful costume being used by a murderer again, but then that poor girl was murdered—I saw it on the news. You two stay safe out there, alright? Arcadia Bay is beautiful, but it has some ugly, ugly sides to it.”

“Don’t I know,” Chloe deadpanned.

“I dunno,” Max said, as the nurse departed. “I can think of one beautiful side.”

She gave a knowing wink to Chloe, before her phone buzzed.

An unlisted number.

DON’T THINK THIS IS OVER.


	7. Single White Female

Warren sat in his dorm room, torrenting a few dozen more horror movies to put on a drive to give to Max. She was undeniably awesome, but her repertoire was fairly limited, and Warren prided himself on being an educator in the finer points of the macabre, the awesome, and the awesomely macabre.

Warren Graham wasn’t exactly considered _cool_ by the student body, but as even the most popular kids admitted, he did have his uses and absolutely nobody could tell him he didn’t have _some_ kind of style.

At the same time, however, Warren was sketching out a web of possible suspects on a piece of poster paper attached to his wall.

NATHAN?

MADSEN?

JEFFERSON?

He sighed.

“All the cop shows I’ve watched in my lifetime and I still feel no closer to solving the case,” he muttered. “Geez, what would Max do at a time like this?”

A text popped onto his phone.

BROOKE: Hey. Dork. If you’re not busy with Max I’m totally bored over here. I’ll be by in a few minutes if you’ll have me.

Warren sighed. Brooke was a friend, and they did share a lot in common—but he had no idea how to feel about her crush on him. It was pretty obvious what the text _really_ meant, and he knew she’d like to have him in a few ways, but…

Max was always on his mind, to his shame. There was even a folder on his desktop labelled “Max.”

_I should probably delete that_ , he noted. _Kinda makes me exude the creepy nice-guy vibe._

WARREN: Alright, come on by. I’m not busy.

BROOKE: Really? Guy like you always seems to have his hands full. Or at least one.

WARREN: Brooke. Really? I know Victoria’s in the hospital but that doesn’t mean her position is open.

BROOKE: Just teasing. I’ll be there in five, killer.

Warren sat back in his chair, still waiting for the files to finish.

_Should I have put NEKRomantik on that drive for Max? I mean, I like weird, but that movie’s a little too fucked up for what’s going on right now. Has she seen Blade Runner? I feel like she probably has, it totally has Chloe’s vibe…_

He began mentally composing an email when a knock came on the door.

“You can come on in, Brooke, the door’s unlocked,” he said.

The door opened.

“Just gimme a sec, I gotta finish this—”

The reflection in his laptop screen wasn’t Brooke’s. It was pale white, had dark voids for eyes, a long mouth…and a Buck 120 hunting knife.

Warren scrambled to the side of his desk and grabbed a wooden sword.

“I started taking kendo,” he said, whipping around. “You wanna bring a knife to a sword fight, ghost boy? Bring it.”

Ghostface charged, but Warren swung his sword into the killer’s neck. Choking out a wet gasp, the killer staggered back. A clumsy knife swing nearly plunged into Warren’s chest, but succeeded in only ripping his shirt.

“What is this, _Star Trek_?” Warren goaded. “If I get out of this with just a Kirk shirt rip, I’m gonna be living on easy street! Come on, killer, bring it—”

It hit him.

“Killer…oh fuck…”

The distraction nearly cost him. Ducking at the last second, the knife stabbed into his dorm wall. Swinging his sword up between the killer’s legs, he then called upon his vast amount of experience from years of watching pro wrestling, and hit a superkick to the jaw.

Ghostface hit the floor, and immediately fell unconscious.

Cautiously, Warren approached the fallen killer, and pulled off his mask.

Under the mask was Brooke, whose eyes were jumping back and forth, her body twitching, and her tongue hung limply from her mouth.

She had been drugged. A faint odour of marijuana hung on her body, but the symptoms were something Warren recognized.

PCP. Someone, most likely the real Ghostface, had spiked her weed with it.

Warren dialed campus security.

“Hello, Campus Security? Yes, Mr. Madsen, it’s Warren. I was attacked just now by Brooke, but I don’t think it was her fault. It seems someone dosed her with PCP, because she was out of control, tried to stab me with a knife…I’m thinking that this has to do with our killer, because…well…she’s wearing his costume, or at least one like it. I’m in my dorm room, but I don’t think Brooke is going anywhere. She’s largely unconscious.”

He checked her pockets, trying to find some evidence, as he hung up. Unfortunately, all that was there was a piece of paper:

~~Rachel Amber~~

~~Taylor Christensen~~

~~Kate Marsh~~

~~Victoria Chase~~

Warren Graham

Max Caulfield

Chloe Price

Warren immediately took out his phone, snapped a picture of the list, and sent out a mass text.

ATTENTION EVERYONE: IF YOU GET A TEXT FROM BROOKE, DON’T TRUST IT. GHOSTFACE HAS HER PHONE. BROOKE TRIED TO ATTACK ME JUST NOW, BUT SHE WAS VISIBLY DRUGGED.

He sighed. Brooke had a copy of the kill list in her pocket, but what was she doing with it? Was she really one of the killers? Was she a proxy for Nathan? Jefferson? He wrote Brooke’s name on his board and scribbled “unwilling?” next to it.

Max got the text about the same time Chloe did.

“Shit, Warren’s in trouble!” Max exclaimed. “We gotta get to him…”

“My step-douche is probably there already,” Chloe pointed out. “We can’t do shit til he’s gone.”

“Fair point, but what can we do?” Max said.

“Text Alyssa,” Chloe said. “She can get in, I can’t.”

\--

Meanwhile, Juliet was already in the dorm, interviewing Warren.

“So, she was _drugged_? Ugh, this has Vortex Club written all over it.”

Warren raised an eyebrow.

“While I’d agree the Vortex Club is a shady, elitist group of sociopaths, isn’t catty bullying and rumours more their speed rather than drug-fuelled assassination attempts?”

“Listen,” Juliet said. “While I was initially laughing at that Kate video—I know, I know, I’m horrible—she was at a Vortex Club party. The kind of thing they’d never normally invite her to. While I was gonna think it was a joke, I did notice a few odd things about the video. One, Kate’s eyes were completely glazed over. Two, I heard a voice that sounded familiar arguing with what sounded like Rachel outside. Three, Rachel and Kate were talking, and they put their drinks down for a second. What if the drugged drink _wasn’t meant for Kate?_ Kate is the only member of the victims who doesn’t fit with the whole ‘pretty, elite’ thing. And four…”

She took out a still frame she’d printed off. In one corner of the party was a Ghostface mask.

“I think our killer was a guest at the party,” she said. “I know, I know, I can’t confirm anything…”

“It’s a lead, if nothing else,” Warren said.

David Madsen finally arrived.

“Juliet, what are you doing here?” he asked, gruffly.

“Sorry, I was checking up on Warren and Brooke. I heard what happened, I just wanted to make sure no one was hurt…”

“I can do that if you stay out of my way. The culprit may still be around—don’t take risks.”

“Can do, _sir_ ,” she said, venomously, leaving. “Talk later, Warren!”

“Later!” Warren called.

Alyssa got the text from Chloe not long after, but the response came back negative.

ALYSSA: No can do, Chloe. I’d love to, but Madsen has the area on lockdown for the next half hour. I can try after but I don’t know how much good that’ll do. I’ll text Warren if I can come by.

“Fuck, there goes that option,” Chloe said, sighing. “If my step-douche _is_ the killer, you can bet he’ll take and destroy any evidence that was there.”

“Warren probably took that into account and made copies before he called security.”

Max sent a quick text to Warren.

MAX: Did you get any evidence before Madsen arrived?

WARREN: Hell to the yeah. Wasn’t gonna let him clean up without taking some copies of the evidence. Only copies though. I left the list just so Madsen wouldn’t get too suspicious. And if we’re wrong about him being the killer, then we need to leave him something.

MAX: Copies are better than nothing.

WARREN: Look, Max, you’re on the kill list. Which I’m sure you knew, already, but…stay safe, okay?

MAX: Are you okay?

WARREN: ‘Tis but a scratch, I’ve had worse.

MAX: Now really isn’t the time for Monty Python.

WARREN: Nah, I’m serious. All I got was a torn shirt.

MAX: You got lucky. Hella lucky.

WARREN: Rolling 20s, boss girl. Hey, when this blows over, Chloe’s gotta restart the D&D club. Even if it’s an after-school thing. It hasn’t been the same since Steph graduated.

MAX: I’d be happy to help make that happen.

WARREN: Catch you later, Madsen’s got the paramedics here and they’ll want me to answer questions.

Max put away her phone.

“Warren says he got the kill list, and I’m on it.”

“No shocker there, I’m probably on it too. We’ve been doing a good job of pissing this guy off.”

“But we still don’t know who he is, and the suspect list keeps growing.”

“Just like the movies…”

Max sighed.

“You know, something occurred to me,” she said. “Juliet has beef with the Vortex Club. Her bf Zachary was sexting Victoria, and Victoria tried to frame Juliet for cheating after she wrote some dirt about the Vortex Club in the school paper. Almost every girl murdered so far was part of or connected to the Vortex Club.”

“How was Kate connected?” Chloe asked. “Other than the tape, she has nothing to do with it.”

“Probably to throw off suspicion,” Max said. “If a couple random kids die, then it doesn’t look like there’s a pattern. I mean, Billy and Stu were targeting Sidney. Mrs. Loomis and Mickey were targeting Sidney. Every time, only one person or group of people were targeted, but they offed random people to cover.”

“Like the two kids at the movies in _Stab 2_ who were watching the first _Stab_ ,” Chloe said. “Whoa, that’s hella meta now that I think about it.”

“So on what tier should we list Juliet?” Max wondered.

“Top tier suspect: Nathan fucking Prescott. Mid-tier: Step-douche, Jefferson. Low tier: Juliet, Warren, Frank Bowers.”

“Whoa, Warren and Frank? Why?”

Chloe sighed.

“I’m probably being paranoid and petty, and it’s probably the weed talking, but…Warren knows a fuckton about horror. Maybe a little too much. And as for Frank, maybe he didn’t kill Rachel, but there’s always like, two people in these things.”

“Except _Stab 3_.”

“Fuck _Stab 3._ That one was almost as bad as _Stab 5,_ the one with all the time travel bullshit.”

“Hey, if the actual _Stab 3: Return to Woodsboro_ had happened without a killer getting involved, we would have been fine,” Max said, laughing. “ _Stab 3: Hollywood Horror_ isn’t awful. It’s just not as good as the first two.”

“I’m not liking this _Stab_ sequel,” Chloe said. “Think they’ll make this one into a movie?”

“God, I hope not,” Max said, laughing. “Who’d even play us?”

“I’d probably get Rooney Mara or Claire Foy. People pretty much think I’m this town’s Lisbeth Salander.”

“They’d probably want to cast some tween star to play me,” Max said. “Ugh, imagine if they cast Ariana Grande.”

“She could _not_ pull off your look.”

“What look is that? ‘Rolled out of bed to post on Tumblr?’”

“I was thinking more ‘hipster Sidney Prescott ready to take down some masked motherfuckers,’” Chloe said, grinning.

“I’m not a hipster,” Max said, embarrassed.

“Says the girl who takes selfies with an old instant camera.”

“Okay, fair. But Warren would definitely be Michael Cera.”

As they walked back towards campus, Max’s phone rang.

“Hello?”

“Hello, Max. What’s your favourite scary movie?”

“It’s him,” she whispered to Chloe.

“The one that ends with you doing life,” she answered.

“Pick one you’ll actually get to see in your lifetime,” Ghostface shot back. “Because Alyssa might not make it through our little interrogation session.”

Chloe began calling the cops.

“Fine. _A Nightmare on Elm Street._ 1984.”

“Good taste. Alright. Freddy Krueger’s sweater is red and green. Why?”

“It was supposed to be red and yellow, but Wes Craven read an article that the two most difficult colours to process for the mind are red and green when put together.”

“Good answer. What was his glove supposed to have before knives?”

“Fish hooks.”

“Ooh, you’re a smart one. Alright. When Johnny Depp went to the audition, he wasn’t the one auditioning originally. Who was it, and what role did he play in the franchise?”

“Jackie Earl Haley. He played Freddy in 2010.”

“Damn, can’t beat you, boss girl! But I’m a sore loser. So I’m gutting poor little Alyssa anyway. Thanks for playing…Super Max.”

An evil laugh filled her ears as the phone call dropped.

The next minute, her phone filled up with pictures of Ghostface tearing Alyssa apart, leaving her gutted and hanging from her ceiling fan. The killer took a few whacks at her body with a wooden sword in another picture. Finally, the last one was the Ghostface walking towards the camera.

YOU’RE NEXT, the text read.

Max threw up.

“Warren…it’s gotta be Warren…he talked like Warren on the phone with me, he called me Super Max, ‘boss girl’, all of it…”

Chloe pulled Max close.

“Hold up, though. It might not be. Remember, Ghostface has all of our texts, all of our info. He could make it seem like it was any one of us—like he did with Alyssa and Warren.”

“You’re right,” Max said. “But I’m still cautious…Warren’s a bit…clingy around me, and I…”

“Okay, let’s not trust anyone with a dick,” Chloe said.

Both girls laughed, a horrible awkward laugh that reminded Max of the last time she played a _Final Fantasy_ game.

Warren called them.

“Max, hey, is Alyssa picking up for you? I tried checking on her, but she’s not answering my calls. She texted me saying she was coming…”

“Warren…Alyssa’s dead.”


	8. Jesus Wept

“Do we go see him?” Chloe asked.

Max sighed. Considering she often wondered what to wear from a wardrobe that was almost comically small, she wondered just who had put her in charge of making important decisions.

“Look, Max, I’m not the one who makes good decisions. I don’t know Warren as well as you seem to. He was kinda a new kid when I was at Blackwell.”

Taking a deep breath, Max nodded and made a sound like sucking limes.

“Okay, we’ll go see him. I’m just being paranoid. And I can’t afford to get like this. It’s what Ghostface _wants_. He wants us to turn on our friends. I gotta just think like Kate does.”

“Well, maybe not _quite_ that sweet,” Chloe said. “I get the feeling she’d try to sit Ghostface down with a cup of tea and get him to talk out his problems.”

“Speaking of problems,” Max said. “Isn’t it weird we haven’t received any, well, Nathan-style texts? The last few have felt a bit…too simple for him. Like there’s no adolescent pettiness.”

“Yeah, like…that ‘Nancy Drew’ text was almost certainly him, but the last few have just been to the point and brutal. Like the attacks. For whatever reason, the Ghostface that attacked us the last few times doesn’t feel like Nathan.”

They made their way to Warren’s dorm room, and Warren was sitting curled up in a ball, holding a spork. It was almost pathetic.

“I had a wooden sword for protection, but it went missing. I…I don’t want to think who took it.”

“Warren,” Max said. “Are you okay?”

He threw the spork against the wall and bit back tears.

“Does it look like I’m okay? In the slightest? ‘Cause I know how this probably looks to you, too. I knock out this ‘Ghostface’ and then Alyssa turns up dead only a few minutes later. Heh, you probably think I knocked Brooke out, dressed her up like Ghostface, and murdered Alyssa. But fuck, trust me, I didn’t…I didn’t…”

He took a shallow breath.

“After Mr. Madsen left,” he said, gasping. “I had a panic attack. I fucking never have those. But I just curled up in a ball and sobbed. I think I heard the door click, I don’t know. In that time someone must have opened the door… because when I looked at Alyssa’s picture, it was my sword he was beating her corpse with like some fucking pinata…and…”

Max put a hand on his shoulder.

“We’re here for you, Warren. Blackwell Ninjas.”

“Some fucking ninja I am. Beat the tar out of a girl who didn’t even know where she was. And now I look like a complete joke in front of you.”

“You aren’t a joke, Warren.”

He sighed.

“I’m sorry if I did anything to make you think I was the killer. He sent me a copy of the texts, you know? He left me here for you…”

Sure enough, an unlisted number left a nasty message for Warren, after a copy of the entire conversation between Max and Ghostface.

HEY KILLER

GUESS WHO’S NOT GETTING A DATE WITH MAX ANYTIME SOON.

NOT THAT YOU EVER HAD A CHANCE.

SHE THINKS YOU’RE A MONSTER. IF YOU WANT TO SAVE YOURSELF THE TROUBLE OF ENDING IT ALL, WELL, COME MEET ME AT THE PRESCOTT BARN. 11 PM TONIGHT. IT’LL BE A SCREAM.

“You don’t have to believe a single word I say, Max,” Warren said, hanging his head. “Maybe the tip’ll help, if you let me come with you. But…fuck. I know I’ve been a creep around you. You don’t have to say it. Some hero I am, huh? I beat up the girl who actually loves me, and I creep out my friend who’s already got an amazing girlfriend.”

Chloe smacked Warren on the head.

“Hey!” he protested. “What was that for?”

“ _Mobile Suit Gundam_ ,” Chloe said. “Bright Noa. Smacked Amuro in the face when he couldn’t get ahold of himself.”

“Not even my father hits me!” Warren said, completing the reference. “I instantly approve of your girlfriend, Max. She’s a woman of culture.”

“You watch Gundam?” Max asked, skeptically.

“Look, I was binging old Toonami shit, okay?”

Warren’s tears faded slightly.

“Look…if you trust me, I want to go investigate the barn. Then, I wanna go check on Brooke in the hospital, and see how Victoria’s doing. Kate, I’m sure she’s alright, but I want to see her too.”

Warren looked at the photo of Alyssa one last time.

“Wait a fucking second!”

He linked his phone to his computer and blew up the image. The robe on Ghostface had a white patch near the neck.

“That’s a dress shirt,” he said. “Bit fucking odd for Ghostface, huh?”

Zooming in further, there was a bit of embroidery on the collar.

SP.

“S.P.” Max read.

“Sean Prescott,” Warren said. “Maybe it isn’t baby Nathan who’s the demon in the family, but his monster of a father. Shit, no wonder so many Vortex kids have died! They’re all people who have been trying to get help for Nathan! Nathan’s gotta be perfect, though! And if he needs help, if people are worried about him, it looks bad on his father!”

He dramatically stood up and wrote SEAN PRESCOTT on the suspect board.

“But wait, there’s more!” he pronounced. “Nathan is Jefferson’s pet project.”

He drew a line between the two.

“The funny thing is, though, is that Blackwell Academy has only been doing so well financially lately _because_ of the Prescotts. This dorm was paid for by their money. That pretentious fucking Maltese Falcon in Wells’ office was a gift. And the new staff around here? Local hires? Hardly. Mark Jefferson’s a famous photographer! He’s worked in LA! Hell, as I recall, he did some promotional photography for the _Stab_ movies. So, what is he doing in a nowhere town like Arcadia Bay?”

“The Prescotts brought him. To bring up their prodigy,” Chloe said. “And probably to make a killer out of him.”

“Fame. Prestige. Murder. It’s a fucking HBO series made-to-order,” Warren said. “I’m betting Sean Prescott is behind it all. Because the fact that small-timers like us are going missing? Well, let’s be frank. The Prescotts never liked us. Principal Wells, their biggest toady, is always pinning shit on us.”

“So it’s a purge,” Max said. “The geeks and the goths and the horror fans. The little Christian girls that don’t get their hands dirty. They’re all going.”

“Fuck _The Purge_ ,” Warren said. “We’re gonna show these masked assholes how we do things downtown.”

“Flip our houses for high real estate profits?” Chloe asked.

“Act condescending if people haven’t heard of The Smiths?” Max asked.

“…it was a _Ghostbusters_ reference,” Warren said, sighing. “But yes, those things too.”

As night fell, what remained of the Blackwell Ninjas left their dorms, slowly slipping into the shadows, each of them armed. Chloe had stolen some more bullets from her stepdad, Max had brought a baseball bat, and Warren had gotten a katana from the mall that, while not overly sharp, and cheaply made, would be better than nothing.

They kept to the dark bushes and corners, noticing that people were walking around outside, including the principal.

“I don’t see why we have to keep making these rounds,” Principal Wells groused. “The police can ensure student safety if they only stay in their dorms.”

“I don’t know who trained you, Wells, but clearly it wasn’t good enough,” said David Madsen.

“Watch it if you want to keep your job.”

“Go ahead and fire me if you like. The parents, I’m sure, would be delighted to know about the hush money the Prescotts feed you. And the percentage of school cash that goes into your personal whisky budget.”

“Well, perhaps these excursions are important…. As you were, Mr. Madsen.”

“Thought as much, _sir_.”

“Wow,” Chloe whispered. “Go step-douche.”

“Once a soldier,” he muttered, “always a soldier.”

After getting off campus, the group made their way to Chloe’s truck, parked, as always, illegally.

“How do you get away with this?” Warren asked.

“The cops long ago gave up on trying to make me pay tickets,” Chloe deadpanned. “If my dealer can’t get me to pay for weed, the cops have absolutely no hope of getting me to pay parking.”

“Chaotic Good.”

“You bet your ass.”

After making their way to the Prescott barn, Chloe killed the lights not far from outside.

“We’re going dark,” she said. “We gotta make sure Ghostface can’t see us coming.”

Max slipped out, followed by Warren.

“So, here’s the plan,” Max said. “We find Ghostface, and we take him down. We gotta put a stop to this. I don’t want to kill if I don’t have to but if any of your lives are threatened I won’t hesitate.”

They made their way into the barn, only to find it eerily quiet.

“Nobody’s here. All these lights are lit, so it’s not meant to be an ambush, but…nobody’s here.”

“Is this misdirection?” Warren wondered.

“No, check this out,” Chloe said. “There’s a secret door here, slightly ajar.”

“Wowser,” Max said, under her breath.

Pulling open the door, the three descended towards a locked door, with a keypad.

“Shit, it’s an electronic lock.”

“Please, this wouldn’t keep out a five-year-old,” Warren said, pulling out a USB cable and connecting his phone to the lock. A few seconds later, it sprung open.

“Wouldn’t keep out five-year-old you, you mean,” Chloe teased.

“Eh, fair.”

Along the walls were prints of Mark Jefferson’s works—his most macabre and dark pieces, full of gloomy, dead-eyed women. Accompanying them were various gory pieces of art that Max recognized from Nathan’s notebook.

“I’m beginning to think Nathan needs help,” Max said.

“Beginning?”

“Fair.”

Opening another door, cautiously, they heard sobbing.

As the pulled the door open, however, they found a gruesome sight.

Sean Prescott, in a damaged Ghostface costume, impaled to the wall with knives and a noose around his neck.

“You were always weak,” he spat, coughing up blood, at Ghostface, looking up at him. “Always had to go first and show you the example, and you still couldn’t follow it!”

“I’m not the d-dead man, you fucking asshole,” Ghostface said. And with that, he rammed another knife through Sean Prescott’s head.

“How do you like that,” he said, pulling off his mask, “dad?”

Chloe cocked her revolver.

“Hello, Nathan.”

Nathan raised his hands in the air.

“Chloe, this isn’t what it looks like.”

Chloe raised the gun at him.

“You tell me what it looks like, because I have no fucking clue, and all I want is the truth!”

Nathan’s eyes were bloodshot from tears.

“You think that isn’t what I want?!” he said, desperate. “There’s so much fucking shit going on, you have no idea! Look, I can tell you one truth right off the bat. I didn’t kill Rachel. I don’t know who did—I think it was Jefferson, he got really pissed when he found out she was leaving, but…he kept calling some guy, I don’t know who, I thought it was dad, but it turns out he was only one of a few people Jefferson kept calling!”

He coughed up blood.

“So, I came here because dad was going crazy. Said he found out all the people trying to make him look bad, and he had an idea to make it stop. Said he’d make me some kind of star with Jefferson’s help…fucking Jefferson! But no matter what, I didn’t get better. ‘Cause the fucker wouldn’t let me! He wouldn’t let me _talk_ to anyone! Wouldn’t let me _heal!_ So when I found out that my father was supplying Jefferson with…subjects…and killing those he didn’t think were good enough…I took matters into my own hands. See, my father talks a big game! He’s a big fucking dick! Fucks everything he touches! But he is the single…biggest…pussy in town! AND I JUST FUCKED YOU, DAD!”

Max looked at Warren, and Warren looked at Max.

“You were saying about HBO?”

“I wasn’t expecting _Game of Thrones_.”

“Lock me up,” Nathan said, pitifully. “Kill me. Just…god…stop me from hearing Rachel’s screams in my head! I promise I didn’t kill her! But Jefferson…my dad…they kept making me listen to her scream! So I made their little Ghostface calls, at first. Because they were too lazy to watch the movie. They thought, me and my degenerate little life, could get all their dirty work done for ‘em! But I refused. I’m not a killer! And nobody—”

“Nathan. I know. Nobody tells you what to do,” Max said. “We’re not here to make you do anything you don’t want to. But we want to take down who’s responsible.”

“So do I,” Nathan said. “This little storm shelter? This fucking dark room? It’s full of dirt on them. Daddy came here to destroy it and kill you. Pity I knew that, because he never fucking shuts up. Not so chatty are you now, cocksucker?”

“God,” he said, after catching his breath. “Please tell me you believe I didn’t kill Rachel.”

“I do,” Chloe said. “You and I…we aren’t friends, I know, but…shit. Everything in the last few days has been telling me you didn’t. You were good friends with her.”

“She was my…” he gasped.

“Angel,” Chloe finished. “She was for so many people…”

“What in the blue fuck is going on down here?” asked a voice.

“Stepdad?”

“Mr. Madsen?”

“Language, Madsen!” came the voice of Principal Wells. “Oh, my…Jesus Christ!”

Nathan sighed.

“D-Did you _seriously bring everyone down here?!_ ”

David drew a gun, but Chloe dropped hers.

“Put the gun down, dad. He’s not the killer.”

“And how do you know?”

Nathan sighed.

“I have so much dirt in this room it’s not even funny. Jefferson should be your next point of inquiry. Assuming he isn’t gone from town yet.”

Nathan’s phone rang. He put it on speakerphone.

NICE TRY, TRAITOR. NOW ALL OF YOUR FRIENDS WILL DIE. YOU WON’T FIND ME. YOU WON’T SEE ME COMING. AND TELL THE BLUE BITCH I’M NOT ALONE. SEE YOU ALL AT STAB-A-THON. OH, AND IF I SEE ONE COP CAR NEARBY, I’LL BLOW THE PLACE SKY-HIGH.

OH, AND MAX…

I TOLD YOU TO HAND IN YOUR FUCKING PHOTO.


End file.
